


what we are is a choice

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, mild violence, mutual knowledge of mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 18:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: Qrow had to admit he’d been feeling way better about this ten seconds ago.Written for the 2018 OzQrow Secret Santa Exchange.





	what we are is a choice

**Author's Note:**

> For Wintersrchild on tumblr.  
> Prompt: Broken together.
> 
> Hey there! I hope this is an acceptable interpretation of your prompt, and I also hope you enjoy at least some of it. Happy holidays~

Once, Ozpin joked that his incurable obsession with caffeine and his awful cigarette habit were the only things that were mostly distinguishable to this life.

 

The comment had stuck with Qrow--as did the knowledge that he could never have anything to say that Ozpin likely hadn’t heard already. Comfort suited Ozpin about as much as it did Qrow. You just--you knew. That comfort was nice and all, but that didn’t necessarily make it fact, and it definitely didn’t take away the problem. And when the problem was ninety percent of your whole fucking existence--

 

And that was why he never had anything better to offer than a good malt when things got low. Nothing like essence of fermented wheat to numb that existential crisis for a couple of hours.

 

Ozpin, though, tended to offer his company, because he liked doing decent things like worry for Qrow’s liver. And Qrow wondered sometimes if Ozpin ever counted this among his distinguishable traits. If this kind of thing was his, or if it was a thousand years and eighty lives of mostly likeminded compassion or something muddying the waters. It probably didn’t matter either way if it amounted to one overall person doing the compassion-ing.

 

But it kind of mattered to Qrow. Just a little.

 

“You missed a spot,” Qrow said, leaning over despite his arm being a hellish mass of tubes to point at a perfectly spotless section of Harbinger’s blade. “Right there. _Huge_.”

 

Ozpin gave him a spectacularly withering look over those stupid sunglasses, easily adding a couple of years to Qrow’s lifespan. “Please stop moving. You’re going to make something beep again.”

 

Just half an hour before, Qrow had caused the heart monitor to screech by leaning a little too far over the bed trying to help Ozpin look for a lost screw. The doctor had been clear, then, after making sure Qrow wasn’t actually dying; influential headmaster or no, Ozpin would be removed if there was another disturbance. Qrow had laughed until his stomach hurt at the sight of Ozpin being sternly lectured by someone who only came up to his elbow.

 

Qrow settled back against the pillows. For all he poked at Ozpin, he didn’t actually want him to leave. The only good things about the hospital were the chocolate puddings and Ozpin’s visits.

 

“What? I’m helping.” Ozpin was acting like Qrow never cleaned Harbinger. Just because he didn’t take it apart once a week and make sure every bit was shiny and oiled didn’t mean he was swinging around a rusted piece of junk.

 

Another skeptical glance told Qrow what Ozpin thought about his ‘help’. But he swiped the not-so-offending spot over with the cloth anyway before laying Qrow’s weapon over his makeshift table of haphazardly stacked chairs, turning his attention to the five million gears and bolts he’d dropped into the lunchbox Taiyang had left. Ozpin paused over it, blinking at the little blob shapes adorning the sides in blue permanent marker.

 

“Yang’s into ocean stuff right now,” Qrow explained, watching Ozpin trace one of the blobs. Maybe a manatee, if that pointy-looking thing was a horn. He hoped it was a horn, anyway. “She’s been trying to convince Tai to get her a pet whale.”

 

Ozpin tilted his head. “And how’s that working out?”

 

“Well, she’s been eating her brussel sprouts without gagging and threatening to die, so she’s pretty serious about it.”

 

“That is indeed quite serious,” Ozpin said, carefully polishing a gear, his solemn tone not quite matching up with the tiny smile on his lips.

 

“Tai’s hoping she’ll accept a betta.”

 

“How likely is that?”

 

Qrow snorted. “You’ve met Yang.” If her crashing into his legs counted as meeting, anyway.

 

“Ah, yes. My shin still aches acutely on cold days.”

 

“That’s just you being old.” Qrow poked his arm with the spork from his lunch tray. “All thirty one years of you.”

 

“That ‘one’ is a personal offense,” Ozpin muttered with disdain, but he was still smiling.

 

It was a good thing he wasn’t looking at Qrow, because Ozpin’s smile always did awful things to Qrow’s heart, one of the few things that could remind him it was still there at all, even tired and shriveled as it was.

 

Qrow watched him work for a while, the silence only slightly awkward on his part. There was a familiar feeling stirring in his chest that he tried not to acknowledge right now. But it was hard. There was something about Ozpin working quietly beside him that just felt... _right_. His suit jacket draped over his chair, sleeves rolled up and hands stained with grease and dirt as he methodically polished each piece in the box with a patience that Qrow could never have.

 

But Ozpin was always patient. Especially with Qrow. And maybe indulgent, too.

 

Ozpin had been visiting the whole week ever since Qrow was allowed visitors, smuggling in food that did Qrow’s arteries no favors, staying long hours until someone came to kick him out. It was nothing new--but that was sort of why it was, because it didn’t really hit Qrow until now. That Ozpin always did this. He was always here. And he chose to be.

 

“You don’t have to do this anymore, you know.”

 

Ozpin made a soft noise that could have been a snort. “Someone should. There is a substance on these parts that doesn’t even appear to be of this earth.”

 

“I’m not talking about Harbinger. I--” Qrow’s brain abruptly stuttered. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again. “So uh. There’s something I gotta say.”

 

Maybe it was something in Qrow’s tone, but Ozpin paused, grimy cloth still in hand. He wouldn’t look up. What little of his expression Qrow could see was unreadable.

 

There was something here, even if Qrow wasn’t totally sure what it was, what it could be. All he knew was that they had numerous hospital visits that always lasted far longer than they should, stalling for time when there wasn’t actually any reason these moments should be stolen. When they could be given, willingly.

 

That was the thing with them, really. Moments stolen, and things they pretended to keep secret.

 

Usually, Ozpin was the one visiting Qrow in the hospital because Qrow’s life choices often proved disastrous and his Semblance sometimes hated him more than it did everything else, but there had been a handful of times Qrow found himself on the other side of that, chafing in a waiting room while Ozpin was doing a good job of dying on some operating table elsewhere. Last year, he’d nearly succeeded. Some function a council member had insisted Ozpin attend, a couple of White Fang agents that’d passed security, a slew of bombs that had gone off in the lobby, and the building crumbling in smoke and fire--

 

When the foundation broke in the wake of the blasts, the building had taken far longer to crack and fall than it should have, allowing the attending huntsmen to get people out. It was a miracle no one dared to question. People still died, but the toll was less than there would have been had the building collapsed naturally.

 

When Ozpin had stumbled out of the fire, eyes blank and unseeing, both hands tellingly bloodstained and torn, Qrow had just been blindly grateful he wasn’t part of that toll. He remembered sitting by his bed later, waiting against a backdrop filled with too much machinery, holding one of Ozpin’s bandaged hands just to feel him there, real and alive.

 

And Qrow remembered waking up a few days ago to a warm, calloused hand over his, the hold loose but unmistakably there. When he’d opened his eyes, the touch immediately disappeared, and Ozpin hadn’t been able to look quite at him for the rest of the night.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t the first time. If they had both been taking more than the usual half acknowledged glances and quiet hours between wine and firelight. He wondered what it would be like to hold Ozpin’s hand and feel him squeezing back.

 

If Qrow was surprised about anything here, it was this: how long it’d taken for him to realize that he’d already arrived exactly where he wanted to be.

 

So he didn’t say anything at all, because he didn’t think either of them could handle the words now. Instead, Qrow reached over, ignoring the strain of the tubes, and he took Ozpin’s hand. It was easy.

 

And when Ozpin looked up, his gaze was soft.

 

“You don’t want to do this.”

 

_Oh._

 

Huh.

 

Well. Qrow had to admit he’d been feeling way better about it ten seconds ago.

 

Dimly, just above the disappointment closing tight in his throat, he realized this wasn’t softness he was seeing. Ozpin was frozen in this awful, fragile way, like he was afraid any movement would break-- _something_. Whatever was here, maybe.

 

Like he hadn’t broken it already.

 

Qrow couldn’t help it. “Is that a _really stupid way_ of telling me _you_ don’t want to do this?”

 

But if that were true, wouldn’t Ozpin have pulled his hand away? And he still hadn’t. Could be a good sign despite the weirdest rejection Qrow had ever heard in his life.

 

Ozpin shook his head, looking down. The gesture seemed to be more at himself than an answer for Qrow. “I appreciate your presence--no. I appreciate _you_ ,” he amended, and the way he said ‘you’--so quiet and sure--hurt something unnameable in Qrow. “And that is why we--this--can’t work. There isn’t enough for you here.”

 

“You’re here,” Qrow tried, not understanding. “That’s enough. _You’re_ right here.”

 

“I’m not enough to be what you need.”

 

It rang all wrong and Qrow didn’t know why. “And what is it you think I need?”

 

Ozpin pulled his hand away, then, and he smiled. It was hollow. “Something whole.”

 

Qrow froze.

 

“I’m sorry.” And Ozpin stood, placing the box of parts on top of Harbinger. He was only a few feet away, and yet he seemed unreachable, closed.

 

Qrow sat up, pushing the hospital sheets back, jostling every line attached to him. “Oz--”

 

They both started at a sudden, toneless wailing--Qrow’s heart monitor had flatlined.

 

“Are you fucking--”

 

He didn’t get to finish. The doors slammed open, and suddenly a swarm of hospital staff was on him, blocking his feeble attempts to get them the fuck out of the way. By the time they’d done so (after making sure he was definitely still alive, yeah, thanks), Ozpin was already gone.

 

He’d left his suit jacket behind.

 

-

 

The two week mark came and went, and Qrow’s scroll remained silent.

 

That was probably a good thing. At this point, the only thing Ozpin had to do was fire him. Unless he thought Qrow was never coming back anyway. Which, knowing how convoluted Ozpin could be, was probably likely.

 

Most people would have given up at ‘you don’t want to do this’. Qrow had the benefit of knowing Ozpin rather well. Perhaps one of the few people who knew him at all--who Ozpin allowed in.

 

He thought about using the jacket as an excuse, but he didn’t really need one. It occurred to him that he’d never needed anything like that, and he wondered if he’d somehow taken that for granted.

 

But still. If not an excuse, he needed _something_ , didn’t he?

 

The last time they’d spent any length of time with this kind of uneasy silence between them, it was out of anger. On Qrow’s part, at least. Because Ozpin had promised that giving Qrow and Raven part of his magic would be a safe process. _You have nothing to fear._

 

Except that Ozpin had collapsed immediately after imparting his magic, aura flickering visibly as he’d shuddered and curled in on himself, cradling a bloody hand to his chest. And Qrow hadn’t been able to do anything for him because he’d been too busy frantically flopping around the floor as a very new and very useless crow. Glynda had found them in the end, and Qrow still didn’t like to think about what could have happened if she hadn’t.

 

It was enough that he couldn’t forget how Ozpin had looked after, stuck in bed for a week, skin drained of color and his shredded hand bandaged so thickly he could have knocked someone out with it.

 

_You said it’d be safe._

 

_You were both unharmed._

 

You _weren’t, you dumbass!_

 

And back then, it was something fascinating and awful, watching the realization cross Ozpin’s face, his eyes widening with a surprise that--really shouldn’t have been a surprise.

 

Learning the range of Ozpin’s emotions had always been a mess. Because they were there, even if they were pretty well hidden. Qrow never forgot that look, like it hadn’t occurred to him that ‘safe’ meant _he_ had to be, too. That Qrow did fear--for _him_.

 

And it’d happened in the hospital, another facet of the same problem that Qrow didn’t know how to handle because it was rooted in more than he knew. It was a self-loathing that came in bits and pieces; jagged quips about memories running together; a harsh laugh about something that staunchly remained unchanged even after two hundred years; an unsettling quiet when he was lost in thought on the roof of the tower, knees folded to his chest as he chain smoked through half a pack of cigarettes.

 

Qrow didn’t know where to begin.

 

What he did know was this: he couldn’t go to Ozpin’s office without an answer. Something to convince Ozpin he was actually whole. More than coffee and cigarette smoke. It just--it felt like he’d be giving up if he went without something to put this to rest. Like something was going to end.

 

Until then, well, as long as his scroll didn’t ring with a message from Ozpin--

 

Qrow was supposed to rest. Instead, he decided to message Shiro, because he was an absolute paragon of good life choices.

 

-

 

Qrow hated running and he hated the cold, so of course both of these things had to be happening at the same time.

 

“Branwen!”

 

 _What._ What the fuck did this asshole expect him to do? Pop out of the bushes and say, “Here I am, come horribly murder me to death”?

 

If he survived this, he was going to find Shiro and steal the fucker’s pants. Qrow was all for returning favors--it was a good system of give and take, and his connections were usually not awful at discerning. But ‘follow this suspicious dude with a beard, don’t worry, he looks kinda weak’? What part of Hazel Rainart looked weak, exactly? He was a human tank of fury and muscle. His muscles probably had muscles.

 

Qrow was usually game for anything. A nest of Deathstalkers? Great. Pits full of writhing Taijitus? Sure, bring that creepy shit on.

 

But a dust-infused Hazel Rainart?

 

Everything was going to smash. Literally everything. Trees, rocks, Qrow. Qrow, specifically, was likely going to be separated into several pulpy stains.

 

There was a reason Ozpin never allowed follow ups on any lead with even a hint of Hazel on it. “I prefer to keep my operatives whole,” he’d said wryly, back when Qrow didn’t know what the fuck a Hazel was. “Hazel Rainart is not good for that. If you meet him, run. That is all I ask.”

 

Qrow was going to get his head popped off, and Ozpin was going to be so very disappointed at what was left of him.

 

The snow wasn’t helping, either. It was doing a good job of dragging Qrow down step by step, both with the depth and the cold, but he could hear Hazel behind him stomping through like it was nothing, like he was running through a field of daisies or something.

 

Qrow almost wished that he, too, was seven feet tall with muscles the size of Mantle. But that wasn’t happening, so he had to make do.

 

“Bran-- _arrgh_ \--”

 

Qrow ducked to avoid a retaliating fist, stumbling off with Harbinger leaving a thick arc of blood in the snow. Normally, Hazel’s scream would send chills down his spine--well, to be fair, he was still getting chills because _holy shit that voice was inhuman_ , but he was also feeling kind of proud. It wasn’t everyday somebody stabbed Hazel in the foot, after all.

 

His pride was short-lived. Qrow fell back instinctively as Hazel lunged for him, and he rolled to the side and on his feet, raising Harbinger in time to stop a fist from punching his face through the back of his head. They pushed against each other, Qrow entirely aware that the only thing stopping Hazel was an inch and a half of tempered steel.

 

Hazel’s foot was bleeding freely into the snow, quickly staining it red, but he didn’t seem at all phased--especially not when he swiped it out suddenly, into Qrow’s side.

 

Qrow felt his aura shatter in crackling, pitiful sparks, and something in his side caving sickeningly, cracking audibly, before he was in the air. For a moment, he felt weightless, breathless--

 

\--and then truly, when his back slammed into something hard. A tree, he thought dimly as he slid down, feeling the rough bark through his jacket. He curled over his knees, wheezing painfully through battered lungs, his vision blurring through the fire in his broken ribs.

 

A fire that screamed when something nudged him hard in his side, tipping him over and leaving him gasping, hands convulsively grasping at the snow. He was vaguely aware that Hazel was saying something. It sounded far, garbled through the haze of pain that made everything toneless and gray.

 

Then, strangely, Hazel’s boot turned away from him.

 

Qrow blinked--then he looked past it. He could see something in the distance, some dark shape against the snow, but he couldn’t quite make it out through the tears.

 

Deliriously, it reminded him of Yang’s blobby sea animals.

 

He thought about her latest masterpieces decorating all of the kitchen walls. He’d even taken a liking to the shark guarding the cereal cupboard.

 

Ah, fuck. He’d promised Tai he’d help clean up. Tai was never going to forgive him.

 

-

 

Qrow awoke to warmth, and a strangely comfortable tingling in his side--which was nearly overwhelmed by the dull pain in his _everything_.

 

“I said ‘run’, not ‘foolishly engage’--”

 

His head bobbed rhythmically, his face brushing against something soft.

 

“--resting, but no, what is rest--”

 

Each word was bitten out slowly, deliberately in time with Qrow’s bobbing. It took Qrow a while to realize there were hands under his knees. He was being carried.

 

“I would like to go a good length of time without you worrying me,” the voice continued, clipped and strained, punctuating each word with a step and a crunch of snow. “Is that so much to ask?”

 

“You were worried?” Qrow said without thinking--and _wow_ , was that his voice? Could it be counted as a voice if it was just a bunch of sad croaking noises?

 

The movement stopped. Qrow felt the shoulders he was resting over heave a little. “How long have you been awake?”

 

“Not long.” Qrow opened his eyes--oh, okay, so that was hair after all. That explained why it smelled like those fancy shampoos with long names like ‘citrus jasmine waterfall’.

 

If anyone smelled like a citrus jasmine waterfall, it would be Ozpin.

 

“Thank you. That is absolutely appropriate for our circumstances.”

 

Oh shit. Did he say that out loud? “I meant that in the best way,” because it seemed important that Ozpin knew that.

 

“I wish you would mean other things quite as strongly.” Ozpin adjusted his hold on Qrow, then continued walking. “For example, when a doctor tells you not to do anything strenuous for a month, and you agree, I generally have high hopes you will follow through.”

 

“Are you seriously lecturing me right _now_ \--”

 

“I am telling you that I didn’t come all the way here just to watch you die.”

 

“Yeah, well, nobody fucking told you to come all the way out here in the first place.”

 

Ozpin stopped again. Qrow expected him to go off--maybe actually get pissed for once, wouldn’t that be something--but he just stood there, staring at the snow, like he didn’t really know what to do.

 

Then he sighed quietly--and pressed against him like this, Qrow felt it in his whole body, a fatigued tremble that went bone-deep.

 

Just once, that one concession. And then Ozpin was walking again.

 

Qrow swallowed down the apology, not sure it’d really mean anything now.

 

It started to snow as they continued on, flakes gently dusting down. Qrow was suddenly reminded of his abused ribs when Ozpin took a particularly heavy step, jarring them. He breathed hard through his nose, hoping Ozpin wouldn’t notice--but of course he did. He didn’t stop, but he turned his head. Qrow pretended not to notice.

 

“This makes your second encounter with Hazel. Did you expect it to go better than your first?”

 

Way to be a dick. “Look, it’s not like I went in thinking it’d be him. I got some bad info. Should’ve looked into it more--” Then it hit him. _Hazel._

 

“You should have stayed home--”

 

“Are _you_ okay?”

 

There was a pause. “Have you forgotten that you’re the one with a chest full of cracked ribs?”

 

“Have _you_ forgotten how much this guy wants to kill you? _What happened?_ ”

 

“Very little,” Ozpin said dryly, and Qrow was almost sure that was a lie. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t really see much of Ozpin’s face. “Did you know you were fighting rather close to a cliff?”

 

“Please tell me you kicked him down it.”

 

“Not kicked, precisely, but--he went down.”

 

“Did he die?”

 

_“Qrow.”_

 

“Look, you can be polite all you want, but I’m not feeling sorry for some asshole that literally broke me and has a murder boner for you.”

 

Ozpin shook his head. “I don’t know if he survived. But I have enough blood on my hands.”

 

Qrow would argue that, at least for this particular instance, but something told him that trying to contest Ozpin’s outrageous sense of responsibility out in the middle of nowhere maybe wasn’t the best idea.

 

But questioning Ozpin’s general sense was fair game, because it freaked Qrow out a little that Ozpin was here and not safe in his tower. That he’d apparently fought Hazel and Qrow hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It could have gone wrong so easily.

 

“What are you even doing here?” Qrow didn’t know if he was expecting an answer. It was just--a general despair. _Why are you here putting yourself in danger, why are you here saving my stupid ass._

 

_Why are you here when I don’t know what to say to you._

 

Ozpin took a long moment before he finally answered. “Mister Xiao Long told me that you’d taken a job near Argus on someone’s request. He said he’d tried to convince you to pass on account of your injuries, but that you never listen to him. He seemed to be under the impression that you would listen to _me_.”

 

Fucking Tai.

 

“But I couldn’t reach you. You must have been out of range of the towers by then.”

 

“So you just--came up here? To find me?”

 

“Yes,” he said simply, and Qrow didn’t think Ozpin understood how not simple that was. “Hazel was an unexpected surprise, but I’m glad I found you all the more so. When I saw you, I thought--” Ozpin cut himself off, turning his head away. “I’m just glad I found you,” he finished quietly.

 

Qrow clenched his hands. He hated this. It was just--so _stupid_.

 

So he didn’t have a good answer yet. Probably never would. But he was beginning to realize he did have _something._

 

“You didn’t let me have my say back in the hospital.”

 

He felt Ozpin go rigid, his steps slowing.

 

“I’m no trophy either, you know. I’ve got so much--you know what I’ve got. And I never have the right thing to say. The truth is, I still don’t. I’ve been trying, but--I don’t think you’ll ever be whole the way you want to be. No more than I’ll ever be. No more than anyone who’s been broken ever can be. But that doesn’t make you ruined, and it doesn’t make you nothing.”

 

Ozpin shuddered. “What I am isn’t--it’s not _complete_. If a person is the sum of their experiences, what does it say when I am incapable of remembering all of them? When I have a sum that isn’t natural, and it bleeds together? I cannot even be certain I am who I think I am at any given point. Do you think that’s fair to you?”

 

“It’s not about fair. And you are who you think you are. People change, okay? Just because you change in a weird-ass way doesn’t mean you’re not enough of a person.”

 

“You don’t know that.”

 

Qrow snorted. “I know so fucking much. Do you know what you are to me? You’re a _gigantic_ _pain_ in the ass. You don’t eat when you’re supposed to, you don’t sleep when you’re supposed to, and when you do either of these things it’s because your body remembered it was actually human, _what do you know_.” Qrow laughed, awful and stunted. “You—you sneak me hamburgers when I’m stuck in the hospital. You let me hide your stupid cigarettes. You sit around for weeks brooding about people you couldn’t possibly have saved, like you didn’t hold up the whole damn building trying.” He wrapped his arms around Ozpin’s neck despite the strain it put on his ribs. “You didn’t choose to be like _this_ , but you choose who you are. And I hate your decisions sometimes because you always choose all the shit that puts you in danger--but that’s you doing the choosing. _You_.”

 

Ozpin was still. Qrow pressed a kiss behind his ear.

 

“You were wrong. You’re not everything I need, but you’re enough because I want you to be.”

 

He expected an argument, because Ozpin was like that. Maybe even something between wariness and hopeful acceptance, because that would definitely make Qrow’s life easier. What he didn’t expect was for Ozpin to walk to a tree and slowly lurch to his knees. He was methodical as he leaned Qrow gently against the trunk, turning to help him sit upright. Then he settled down beside him.

 

“I think I’m quite done,” Ozpin finally said, and abruptly started bleeding.

 

Qrow jolted up at the sight of the blood that was quickly staining the snow beneath him. He fumbled at Ozpin’s coat, ignoring the screaming pain in his side. “Why?” he breathed, hands hovering uncertainly over the thick patch of wetness in the middle of Ozpin’s waistcoat. “Why are you _like_ this? Can you go a year without _something_ happening--”

 

“Pot, kettle.”

 

“Fuck, I knew you were lying, ‘very little’ my ass—“

 

”It was a comparatively brief fight. This _is_ little, considering.”

 

”Considering what? _Death_?”

 

Ozpin pushed ineffectively at Qrow’s face, probably not wanting to risk touching anything else. “Sit down first. You’ll ruin my work.”

 

“Your--” Qrow stopped. _“Oz.”_

 

He knew that weird tingling in his side felt familiar. It was the same feeling he always had just before he shifted form, that little bit of magic gearing up.

 

_I’m just glad I found you._

 

“I have had enough of blood,” Ozpin said, closing his eyes. “Especially yours.”

 

“Has it ever occurred to you that I’m pretty tired of you bleeding on me, too?” Qrow shuffled painfully to his knees. “I take it all back,” he muttered, hefting Ozpin onto his back, somewhat grateful that Ozpin had the presence of mind to link his arms around Qrow’s neck on his own. “I am a fucking glittering trophy of sensibility compared to your stupid ass.”

 

He felt Ozpin shake, listened to quiet laughter bury itself in his hair, and Qrow was all kinds of pissed, sure, but he’d also missed that laugh.

 

“Can you hold me together until we get to the city?”

 

Ozpin nodded against his head.

 

Good enough. Everything was awful, but Qrow focused on the feeling of Ozpin’s breathing near his ear, labored but there. He needed something to get him moving.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

“I’ve been told you looked quite heroic carrying me,” Ozpin said as he wiped Hazel’s blood off Harbinger’s blade. “At least until you traumatized the receptionist by dropping me on the front counter.”

 

Qrow shook his head, torn between indignance and the fluttering in his stomach at Ozpin’s smile. “You’re heavy, old man. All those donuts.”

 

“So sorry to inconvenience you. Next time, I will be sure to bring a wagon.”

 

Qrow glared at the mere suggestion of a next time, and though Ozpin wasn’t looking at him, his smile widened. He’d only just woken up and already he was annoying the fuck out of Qrow. Whatever. Qrow would let him have that. He doubted he’d be able to deny Ozpin very much right now.

 

Qrow hadn’t enjoyed this past week. For one thing, there wasn’t any chocolate pudding in Argus, apparently. For another, they hadn’t allowed him to see Ozpin those first few days. Worse than seeing Ozpin lifeless on those sheets was having to wait to see him at all.

 

So it was comforting seeing him conscious and trying to do his usual busywork. Qrow suspected he’d have to wait until Ozpin passed out before he could take Harbinger back. “I keep telling you that you don’t have to do that.”

 

“And I keep telling you that _someone_ must. Blood is awful for small parts.”

 

“I was discharged _yesterday_. Not everybody’s some weird workaholic like you.”

 

“You know I hate being still.” Ozpin tilted his head. “Is this a trait you find a ‘gigantic pain in the ass’, by any chance?”

 

Qrow accidentally sucked his strawberry gelatin down whole. “Uh,” he said, coughing. “I meant all of that in the best way.”

 

Ozpin smiled. “I should hope so. Otherwise, this will certainly be awkward.” And suddenly Ozpin was leaning over the bed and into Qrow, a hand delicately braced against his chest as he kissed his cheek.

 

Qrow stared dumbly even as Ozpin lingered against him, his forehead against Qrow’s face. Without really thinking, he scooted closer, wrapping his arms carefully around Ozpin, mindful of all the medical equipment still attached. “Does this mean what I think it means?” he muttered into Ozpin’s hair.

 

Ozpin laughed. It sounded a little shaky. “You made a very compelling argument. For once.”

 

“You know what, I’m gonna be magnanimous and let that go.” Only because his throat felt tight with suddenly _too_ _much_. And more so, when he felt Ozpin’s tentative hold around him.

 

But he refused to let Ozpin go, which suited them both just fine.

 

-


End file.
